Memorial to Scarcity

I keep a whisky bottle inside the cupboard,
depleted except for a tiny bit, the golden
liquid glimmering, a magical snake
caught within glass. So little left.

This scarcity, a memorial to my mother,
one I visit, tilting the bottle back and forth,
remembering our vacant conversations.
My mother loved whisky, but what I have
would never be enough–she always made
sure to tell me that. The scant amount I keep,
a reminder of her endless thirst, circling
our days, a hissing snake, poisonous,
striking the soft spots until they hardened
into rock.

Now that I’m sober, this creature slithers
safely behind glass–
look how it sheds its skin, a frayed memory,
paper thin. Look how it eats its own tail,
a life holding emptiness, zero, always
the place to begin.

*

Jennifer Mills Kerr loves mild winters, anything Jane Austen, and the raucous coast of Northern California. She leads virtual creative writing & reading groups for poets. After twenty years publishing fiction, she has recently “come out” as a poet, thanks to encouraging friends and editors. Say hello at www.JenniferMillsKerr.com.